


Sleepover

by GlassRain



Category: Leif & Thorn (Webcomic)
Genre: Bilingual Character(s), Cultural Differences, Domestic Fluff, M/M, Sleepovers, Soulbonded Pets, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 15:11:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6199891
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GlassRain/pseuds/GlassRain
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Leif has a sleepover at Thorn's apartment. Cute domestic fluff with home-cooked food, board games, and cultural misunderstandings involving shampoo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sleepover

**Author's Note:**

> This is where Leif usually showers and sleeps: http://leifandthorn.com/comic/homecoming-2424/
> 
> I figure Thorn's apartment is like a four-star hotel in comparison.
> 
> A lot of the background stuff I'm just making up, but the cat-cuddling awkwardness is totally canon: http://leifandthorn.tumblr.com/post/138551579816/tender-moments-montage-by-erinptah-a-bunch-of-cute

"Come home with me," says Thorn. "Spend the night," says Thorn. "It's not a come-on, I swear, it'll just be for fun. Like a . . . " says Thorn, then has to stop for a minute and search Network for the Sønska word for "sleepover."

It's hard to be reckless and act on spur-of-the-moment impulses when there's a language barrier slowing you down, but somehow, with Leif, Thorn manages to do it anyway.

Now they're back at his apartment, figuring out where to stash Leif's gear for the night. And when Thorn thinks _gear_ , he means it, because Leif packed everything in an honest-to-goodness hiking backpack -- the kind that holds a whole tent, a sleeping bag, a week's worth of rations, and you can probably stuff a pair of snowshoes in a spare pocket. In Sønheim, where half the year you can get frostbite just standing in the sunshine, any kind of excursion is serious business.

His spare clothes can go in the closet outside the bathroom, so they're easy to grab after a shower. A Sønska game can go in the common room -- Thorn has seen the brand name but hasn't played it before, and looks forward to the unboxing. This box, well, depending on what's in it, it can go . . . can go . . . 

"Is this _beef?_ " asks Thorn in disbelief, peering through the clear side of the container.

"No, it's reindeer," says Leif earnestly. As if the exact species of meat was Thorn's main concern here. "I took it out of the freezer right before I left, so it should be thawed now. I should start cooking it soon, though."

When Thorn suggested that Leif might want to bring snacks, this is not what he bargained for. "Uh, um, yes," he stammers. "Do you like to cook alone? Or can I help?"

Leif looks startled, then confused, but rallies. "Of course! If you want, you can . . . help."

 

~ <3 ~

 

Thorn's kitchen has all the tools Leif needs to make seared reindeer for two, even if some of them are weird shapes and they're all much smaller than the big industrial devices in the embassy kitchens. He doesn't have exactly the right spices in his cupboards, but they search Network for recipes and find some acceptable alternatives that don't require anyone to run to the corner store.

Leif is mortified at the misstep, and grateful that the knight doesn't tell him off. He should have thought to ask what Ceannic people eat. What if Thorn doesn't like steak at all?

After about a minute of the meat sizzling on the stove, there's a blur of movement at the edge of Leif's vision, too small -- and too blue -- to be Thorn. It turns out to be a cat, all fluffy fur and big ears, studying him from the kitchen threshold with big sapphire eyes.

It's _adorable_.

Whilst Leif is staring, Thorn cooes something in Ceannic: a greeting, then Leif's name. To Leif, he says, "Do you like cats? Her name is Tiernan."

"I love cats," breathes Leif. He loves all kinds of pets . . . the question is whether they'll love him back, or, say, chase him up a tree. The pet he has the most experience with is young miss Ragnild's ferret, and when it doesn't like someone, it bites. "Is she okay with strangers? Will she let me pet her?"

Tiernan answers the question herself by trotting across the floor -- her paws are dappled like little blue socks! -- and rubbing up against him, winding her body around and between his calves. Leif sinks into a crouch and strokes her back. Her fur is so _thick_. All the other Ceannic cats he's seen are sleek little things -- Tiernan is the only one who looks like she could survive a Sønska winter.

He scratches behind her ears, then under her chin, then ruffles both hands through her fur . . . then, when she seems to be relishing the attention, scoops both arms under her and picks her up against his chest.

Thorn makes a loud noise that's half cough, half throat-clearing.

Leif turns, afraid he's done something wrong -- but Thorn isn't even looking at him. Or looking pointedly at the stove, which would have been Leif's next guess. The knight shakes himself, then looks at the clock and flips the steak on his own, leaving Leif free to keep hugging the cat.

Tiernan purrs.

The meat sizzles.

Thorn offers Leif a drink, and, when Leif declines, gets himself a glass of water and drinks most of it by the time the steak is ready to serve.

"Tiernan will like some of the meat," he says. "You can feed her a piece, if you want."

Leif takes the cue to put the cat down, and slices off a corner of the steak, kneeling again to hold it out for her. Tiernan sniffs the offering, licks it a couple of times, then snaps it up and gulps it down in two swallows, licking Leif's palm to make sure she's gotten all the juices. It's enchanting.

"I'm sorry I didn't ask if you liked reindeer before I brought it," adds Leif. Now that he really thinks about it, he's not sure they _have_ a whole lot of reindeer this far south.

"Don't worry." Thorn gulps the last of his water. "I like it."

 

~ <3 ~

 

"And now you passed Go, so you get an automatic twenty percent tithe from all your fiefdoms."

"Got it," says Thorn, and starts counting up the right number of game tokens to add to his hoard.

The game is fun! And it's a mini geography lesson, since there's a map of in the middle with all the historical fiefdoms of Sønheim marked off in different colors. Thorn wonders if that's why Leif brought it over -- given that Thorn is guarding the country's embassy, he feels like he should understand its history a lot better than he does.

In return, to help Leif escape the cultural bubble of the embassy, the background music in the room is a mix of the top-40 Ceannic-language tunes. At least two of them so far have been by Sønska pop stars, but Leif either hasn't noticed or is too polite to bring it up.

Tiernan watches the whole thing from her perch on the back of the couch.

With their soulbond, Thorn can feel that his cat would like to be in Leif's arms again. And if she hopped into Leif's cross-legged lap, he has no doubt Leif would happily pet her whilst playing the game one-handed. The problem is that he hasn't told _Leif_ about the soulbond, so Leif doesn't know that getting touchy-feely with Tiernan can have . . . effects . . . on Thorn. Letting him do it anyway would be like taking advantage.

And if Leif knew the whole story, he might start wondering what it meant that Tiernan was so willing to snuggle up to him in the first place. Not that it meant anything. But it could get awkward if he wondered.

They have an understanding, here. Thorn doesn't want a relationship, for good and logical reason which have nothing to do with long-held personal hang-ups, and Leif doesn't want a relationship, because it would require permission from his supervisor and he doesn't want to deal with the paperwork. That's reasonable, right?

And now Thorn has lost count of his tokens. He starts over, going faster this time. There's no reason he should get so distracted by the memory of secondhand cuddling.

The background music changes to a Ceannic singer/guitarist as he finally wraps up his tithe.

Leif rolls the dice, and moves his token half a dozen places forward on the board. "I choose to annex Månborg," he announces. "Do you want to ship secret weapons to the resistance movement to increase their odds of mounting a successful defense?"

Thorn is learning so much diplomatic vocabulary from this game, too. "Sure."

 

~ <3 ~

 

The bath in Thorn's apartment is a vision of luxury. Sure, it's not as big as some of the diplomats' baths at the embassy, but it's not like Leif ever gets to use those, just the servants' communal shower stalls. They don't hold a candle to this elegant cross-shaped stone tub, lined with colorful bottles and jars, bordered by a tastefully-patterned curtain.

When Leif gushes over how fancy it all looks, Thorn gets a sparkle in his blue eyes and says, "Take your time! You're the guest. Enjoy yourself."

He picked up the Sønska phrase _take your time_ during the board game, and looks so pleased to have a chance to use it.

Leif runs a hot bath, shrugs out of his day clothes, and sinks into the water. Sometimes on hot summer days there are times set aside for the servants to use the embassy pool; this is like that, but better. It reminds him of childhood visits to hot springs, back in his beloved Sønheim.

After a nice relaxing meaningless soak, he starts taking a closer look at the bottles on the shelf beside him, which turn out to be an array of creams and potions for hair and skin. Physical luxuries, different from the cheap cleaning spells Leif is used to relying on. Did Thorn really mean to let him use these?

He picks one up, and there's no shock, so Thorn didn't put a compulsion on the bottles to keep Leif from touching them. That's auspicious.

The labels are mostly in Ceannic, with a few instructions translated in small print. Leif's glasses are on the counter, so he has to hold everything up and squint. One of the jars turns out to be some kind of burn treatment -- Leif puts it back in a hurry. It's probably the rarest, and most expensive, thing here. Not a lot of people have burns like Thorn's.

When he finds a bottle that looks like shampoo, he double- and triple-checks the label to make sure he doesn't waste something more exotic by mistake, then squeezes out a dollop and starts working it into his soaking hair.

It feels good. Soothing. Clean.

It feels . . . 

 

~ <3 ~

 

Thorn is straightening up around the kitchen when he hears the cry. First a wail of distress, then, when he's halfway down the hall, his name.

Tiernan is already standing sentry outside the bathroom door, her tail all puffed up, ready to chase away whatever upset Leif. A second before Thorn's hand would have hit the doorknob, it jiggles on its own, and then Leif pulls it open, free hand clutching a towel not-very-tightly around his waist. He's panting, dripping wet, eyelids squeezed shut . . . and Thorn can't tell if that's bath water or tears running down from the corners.

"I'm here," says Thorn, catching Leif's hand as it blindly gropes at the wall. "What happened?"

"My eyes -- I tried the fancy shampoo, I'm sorry, sir, I didn't know -- it did something to my eyes, it hurts, please make it stop --"

Thorn doesn't own any fancy shampoo, he uses bargain-basement shampoo, and it stings to high heaven. "Is Sønheim some kind of secret paradise of no-tears hair products? Because that is really not technology they should be hoarding," he mutters in Ceannic, whilst gently steering Leif back into the bathroom. In Sønska, all he manages is "It's okay" and "Lie down."

Leif lies on his back on the cool marble tiles. He's shaking like a . . . well. The point is, it's awful. Thorn, filling a cup at the sink, can _hear_ him trying not to whimper.

In half a second he's kneeling at Leif's side, resting a hand on Leif's forehead to signal that he's there. He's blanking on the Sønska words for everything helpful, so he settles for another "It's okay" and "Trust me."

When Leif nods, Thorn pulls one of his eyes open and pours cold water over it.

Another yelp, Leif's head automatically trying to jerk away from the shock. He's not really struggling, though, so it's easy for Thorn to hold him in place, repeating a drumbeat of _it's okay, it's okay, it's okay_. Out of the corner of his eye Thorn notices Tiernan running up to Leif's other side and rubbing against him; Leif could hold on to her, but doesn't.

The pale eyelids snap shut again, as soon as Thorn lets them go. He reaches for the other pair, and this time Leif knows what's coming, flinches when the water splashes over his eyeball but doesn't make a sound.

"That's better? Yes?" asks Thorn when he's finally done.

Leif's eyes are both closed, but his breath is evening out. He opens them tentatively, and blinks -- they look okay to Thorn, just a little bloodshot. "Much better. I -- I'm so sorry, sir."

"It's okay. It was an accident." Thorn's Sønska is coming back; he thinks about what Leif was saying before. "It's okay for you to use the potions and everything, understand? That wasn't the problem."

"O-okay. Thank you, sir."

Still moving carefully, Leif sits up . . . with a lot of wet purple hair still plastered to his forehead, suds and all. Thorn hurriedly wipes it to either side with his palm. "You just have to be careful. Keep our shampoo out of your eyes."

Leif looks adorably sheepish. "I'll remember."

Somehow Thorn's hand comes to rest at the side of Leif's face, fingers splayed across the silkiness of Leif's long wet hair. His crisis-mode focus disperses, letting him appreciate for the first time that Leif is basically nude -- the towel is still draped across his middle, but it's one tug away from not hiding anything. Either Leif hasn't noticed yet, or he just plain doesn't have a self-conscious bone in his body.

(Thorn's brain starts working on a line about what kind of bones Leif _does_ have. Thorn silently tells it to shut up.)

Anyway, he's gazing into Thorn's eyes, and their faces are less than a foot apart, and, oh, frell, are they having a moment? Is Leif going to lean in for a kiss? Is Thorn going to complain if he does? (Answer: no. No, he is not.)

But Leif doesn't go for it. And he's in one of his more subservient moods, as measured by how many times he calls Thorn "sir" per minute. Thorn is absolutely not going to start anything when he's afraid Leif might go along with it just to be polite.

Tiernan saves the scene from getting unbearably awkward by meowing, startling them both, then trotting to the hall and looking expectantly back at Thorn.

"I think she needs something," he says, finally pulling his touch away from Leif's skin. It's basically true, even if what "she" needs is on behalf of her soulbonded human. "I'll let you finish washing up."

 

~ <3 ~

 

They make popcorn and stay up late, watching the Sønska dub of an old-fashioned comedy from Thorn's collection. Not all of the jokes translate very well. When Thorn laughs anyway, Leif thinks he must be remembering the original.

He's wearing a long nightshirt and fuzzy unicorn slippers, complete with little cloth horns. It's very cute.

The cat sits on Thorn's lap for the whole show, so in the back of his mind Leif spends the whole show wishing she would move. He knows it's not fair; Tiernan doesn't belong to him, and can sit wherever she wants. At last the end credits roll; Thorn yawns, checks his messages one last time, and tells Leif he's going to turn in. The guest room is ready whenever Leif is.

Tiernan stays behind, curling up on the couch in the warm spot where Thorn was sitting. When Leif tries to pet her again, she rolls over for a scratch under the chin.

"Your human is very nice," whispers Leif.

Tiernan starts purring.

"He's fun, and he's sweet, and he acts almost like our ranks don't matter, and he's always ready to help when I need it . . . " Leif sighs. " . . . and I wish he would just jump me, if he's going to."

As if she can understand him, the cat sits up straight . . . then hops into Leif's lap and starts licking his face.

"I didn't mean you!" laughs Leif. He brushed his teeth, he can't still smell like reindeer -- maybe she likes the taste of popcorn? "It's okay, though, sweetie," he adds, pulling her into a cuddle and nuzzling her back, even kissing her forehead. "I love you too."

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr for reblogs and pretty things: http://glassrain83.tumblr.com/


End file.
